


Into the Hills We Go

by CinnaAtHeart



Series: TumblrWeeds [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, x-over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart
Summary: A monster hovered behind the man. Hooded by a tattered cape, hands covered by scabbed and rotting flesh, Darcy’s thoughts turned to the grim reaper. God, but it seemed to be sucking the warmth and the colour from the brightly lit room. Her heart felt like it had shrunk, her blood turned to ice in her veins.She trembled.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For shits and giggles I wrote something in past tense. woooow was it hard D':<

“Hello?”

There was no reply. Wind pounded against the windows and the branches of the flowering tree scraped against the glass. Daylight or not, it made her nervous. She swallowed and glanced down at the note in her hand. The key opened the door alright, but she was under the impression that there was meant to be someone here to actually meet her.

“Doctor Lamont?” she called out as she wandered down the hall. The walls were lined with artworks and photographs of a family at various ages, but the place gave off the definite impression that it hadn’t been lived in for several months. She ran a finger along the dark wood of the letter table just outside the living room- it left a sharp streak of clean behind.

“Doctor Lamont, it’s Darcy! You hired me from the cleaning agency?”

There was something distinctly not right about the house. She didn’t know why she thought it, but she was certain that there was something _off_ ; a malignant aura that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She gritted her teeth.

There was a faint sound from the end of the hall and Darcy moved towards it; she’d been told the Doctor was elderly and frail, and she found herself almost- _almost_ \- hoping that he had hurt himself. She moved towards the sound, and tried to ignore the cheery, plastic smiles of the people in the photographs. The sensation of _wrongness_ intensified the further she travelled- and it seemed to take an age to reach the door at the end of the hall. She heard the sound again- a soft, almost wet rattle.

“Doctor Lamont?” she called out for the third time, and this time there was a cleared throat in answer.

“Ah, yes! Miss Lewis,” a friendly and very British sounding man replied, at odds with the malevolent aura of the place. “I do apologise- I seemed to have dozed off.”

Darcy bit her lip, not entirely sure she believed him. She opened her mouth to reply- calm and poised- but halted in the doorway. Her eyes grey wide in shock.

A man sat at the table, on the handsome side of his mid-forties. His gaze was focussed on her entrance, but it wasn’t him she was transfixed by.

No, not him.

It was the bloody great _monster_ looming behind him. Hooded by a tattered cape, hands covered by scabbed and rotting flesh, Darcy’s thoughts turned to the grim reaper. _God,_ but it seemed to be sucking the warmth and the colour from the brightly lit room. Her heart felt like it had shrunk, her blood turned to ice in her veins.

She trembled.

The man smiled, looking pleasantly surprised. “Oh! Do you see it?” he asked, apparently unaffected by the reaper’s presence. “That makes a change, I must say. Most of you can’t see them… I suggest for the next part, you stay still.”

He raised a hand; it held a thin strip of wood that he swished and flicked. The hood of the monster fell.

And _God_ , but _it had no eyes_. Darcy’s muscles went slack, unable to go for the taser hidden in the depths of her bag. She wanted to run, but her legs were frozen.

And then, slowly- as though trapped in molasses- it moved.

The motion broke the spell and she stumbled backwards, slamming against the wall with a soundless shriek. The creature glided towards her almost lazily as the man tutted at her. Its face was really just an expanse of scabbed and peeling flesh, its only feature a gaping hole where its mouth should have been. She opened her mouth as if to scream again, but all that escaped was a pitiful whimper. She willed her limbs to move further, but this close the creature had frozen her stiff.

It drew in close, and for one horrified moment she thought it was about to-

-A crash erupted from the kitchen. The sound of shattering glass filling the air, and something bright and silvery burst through the window. It charged straight for them and the reaper flinched. The silver thing- a stag, she realised- reared onto its hind legs and the creature shrieked and pulled away.

It fled.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” a man yelled, and she caught sight of a bright flash of red from the kitchen and a fleshy _thump_.

Silence reigned, but for the deafening thunder of her heartbeat. The malevolence of the place dissipated almost instantly- the stag felt like the exact opposite of the reaper- and Darcy sighed in relief. Her head hit the wall with a soft _thud._ Her legs felt watery, the breath in her lungs came out short and sharp. She wanted to cry, but settled for letting her legs collapse beneath her.

“Oh God,” she breathed. “Oh God, what the hell was that?”

“Are you alright?” there was a man standing in the doorway. His gaze was concerned, but wary.

Darcy shook her head in a mute ‘no’. He moved towards her slowly, hands outstretched as through trying to tame a wild animal. She appreciated the sentiment; she was still debating whether or not she should tase him and get the hell out of dodge.

“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s okay. It’s gone; it’s over.”

Darcy hummed and bit her lip viciously. “Yes I got that, thank-you.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “You’re looking better already,” he remarked dryly and crouched down in front of her. He pulled something out of the weird dress thing he wore and placed it gently into her hand, “Here. This will help.”

A twix bar.

Snack size.

Darcy raised a brow. “A candy bar. Really?”

He shrugged. “You’d be surprised by how helpful chocolate can be.”

She laughed shakily. “I know full well how helpful chocolate is, thank-you very much. I’m just not sure about the context.”

He smiled again and straightened. Darcy inspected the candy bar for any signs of tampering whilst the man turned back to the kitchen, where her would-be client lay motionless on the tiles.

“I didn’t tamper with it,” the man said. She glanced up, just in time to see her attacker hover in thin air, straight into a waiting chair. “ _Incarcerous,_ ” he murmured, and ropes shot out of nowhere to twine around his arms and torso.

Darcy stared. This was new for her. She stayed quiet as she tried to reconcile her view of the universe once again. She’d had to do so after Thor, and then the whole thing in New York and again in London. Accepting whatever the hell this man was wasn’t all that much of a stretch, really.

He turned back to her again. He was quite good looking, she noted distantly; his eyes in particular were quite striking behind his glasses. Bottle green and vivid as fuck.

“Sorry?” she asked, suddenly aware that he had said something.

He frowned, “I said, you should really eat that. It won’t kill you; hand on my heart.”

Darcy nodded slowly, and tugged open the wrapper. The twix _looked_ fine at least. She took a tentative nibble from the corner, and warmth swept through her limbs, bringing feeling back into digits that had gone cold and stiff.

She glared at him, suspicious. “Just chocolate, huh?”

“It’s _really_ good chocolate.”

“Hmm.” She took a bigger bite. It couldn’t possibly be that bad if this was the effect, she reasoned.

“So, the question of the day, then,” she said eventually, “What in the fuck was that?”

The man glanced back at the unconscious guy in the kitchen. “ _That_ was a serial killer attempting to add you to his long list of victims.”

She choked on her last bite of chocolate. “For real?”

He nodded. Darcy wheezed unflatteringly, “Fucking hell. This is not how I thought I’d spend my Thursday.”

“Really? It’s how I knew I’d be spending mine.”

She snorted. “Speaking of- what the hell are _you_ meant to be? Kind of an odd get-up for a superhero. Or do you just call yourself a vigilante?”

He laughed, long and loud. Darcy blinked up at him, bewildered by his reaction. “I didn’t think I was being funny,” she said coldly. He shook his head.

“No- no you weren’t. It’s just that I’m neither. I’m and Auror; this is my job. Like, an actual, paying job.”

“A what?”

He stopped laughing and stared at her for what seemed like an eternity.

“What’s your name?” he asked her eventually.

“Sally,” she lied. He smiled- barely- like he knew she was lying, but chose not to question it,.“You?”

“Harry,” he told her, and knelt down again. “And. Well, forgive me Sally- bit of a personal question here- but were you adopted?”

She bristled. “ _Excuse me?_ ” She was sorely tempted to whip out her weapon and tase him with it, saviour or not.

The man grimaced. “Well, you’re magical, aren’t you.” He squinted at her; pushed his glasses up his nose.  “Aren’t you? You don’t feel like a witch, but you saw that dementor clear as day, so you’re probably a squib, I guess.”

“What did you just call me?” she gaped at him, appalled, “Did you just call me a firecracker?”

“I- no?”

She leaned forwards. “Then what the _fuck_ did you just call me? A squib? Is that some kind of weird derogatory British term? I don’t even _know_ you.”

He was blushing now, and looked a little lost for words. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“Fucking know _what?_ ”

“Er-”

“No, seriously dude, what in the fuck. Witches? Squibs? Dementeds? The fuck are you even talking about?”

“Dementors-” he corrected her. He looked as though he can hardly stop himself.

“Explain. _Now._ ”

“I- well, you’re a squib- and I don’t mean you’re a firecracker!” he said before she could interject, “It means you’re of magical descent, but you don’t have powers yourself.”

“Magic,” she said flatly. He nodded. She took a moment to think about it. Why the hell not- Thor and Jane were always talked about how magic and technology were indistinguishable. “Okay. So you’re saying I’m of magical descent?”

“Yes. But it was pretty common for magical families to adopt out squibs- for various reasons; some good, some bad.”

She bit her lip. “That’s why you asked-”

“If you were adopted, yes. It’s a pretty good indicator if a muggle- that’s a non-magical person- sees a dementor- that monster that was going to attack you.”

Darcy nodded slowly. “Okay. Then why do you want to know? And if I’m a squib, then what does that make you?”

He scratched at the back of his neck, a little nervous. “Uh- well, see. Standard procedure for these kinds of incidents with muggles is an obliviate. We’re kind of secret.”

She flinched. Darcy could guess exactly that word meant. Her hand crept towards her handbag, taser waiting inside. “You are _not_ messing with my brain, dude.”

He shook his head vehemently. “I’m not! I won’t; obliviations are for _muggles_. But squibs are technically a part of the magical community, even if you’ve never grown up in it. _You_ get a non-disclosure statement.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. Even here she couldn’t escape those fucking non-disclosure statements. Dubious ethics aside (and it _was_ dubious; messing with someone’s brain without their permission was fucked up on so many levels), she was grateful it wasn’t any worse than that.

“And him?” she pointed behind him. He glanced back for a moment and shrugged.

“He’ll go to trial, then prison. Not about to get off scott-free.” He frowned, “Speaking of, my partner should hav-”

“Fuck- Harry! You can’t just go disappearing like that- there are goddamn procedures to foll- oh.”

Darcy stared at the newcomer that had appeared out of nowhere with wild eyes. She was _this_ close to cutting her losses and running for it- and she bloody well would if another person cames barging into the place, metaphorical guns blazing. The man lowered his stick slowly, face turning beet red.

“Uh-” he said, and blinked down at them in surprise, “I guess this time it was probably merited.”

“Lamont's dementor was about to kiss her, Ron.”

She startled. “It was about to do _what?_ ”

Harry winced. “Er- dementors kiss you and steal your soul.”

“Oh,” she shuddered in horror. No wonder it had felt like all the joy had been sucked from the room.

“Harry,” Ron asked, voice thin and strained, “a word, please.”

Harry sighed heavily and stood up. The pair moved to the kitchen. Their weird dress-cloaks swished about their legs. They spoke to each other quietly.

Darcy was struck by the strangeness of the situation; suddenly all she wants to do is go home and cuddle with Jane and Thor and eat a carton of ice cream. The shaking felt like it was on the verge of returning. She could run, she thought to herself. If she was quick enough they wouldn’t be able to catch her. If she called for _Thor_ , they definitely wouldn’t be able to catch her.

The men’s conversation seemed to be growing agitated. She caught more than one gesture in her direction. Ron looked like he was ready to do exactly what Harry had said he wouldn’t.

 _Fuck this_.

She wasn’t going to stick around and wait for them to decide on her fate. Darcy stood up- ignored the shaky feel in her limbs- and turned and ran.  


End file.
